Of Dragons and Princesses
by jezrdfrn
Summary: She's been gone for six years.  When Hermione returns unexpectedly, can the Gryffindor princess still have a happily ever after?   Or is she lost forever? DMHG
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, Draco Malfoy would definitely not have a receding hairline.**

Chapter 1: Imitation of Death

Walking through the hospital corridor, I am blissfully unaware of the impeding chaos that awaits me.

I'm Ginny Potter, nee Weasley, Senior Healer of Spell Damage in St. Mungo's hospital. My next patient is a witch, who along with her daughter and many others were victims of the Bulgarian Quidditch stadium accident that happened two days ago. It made big news even in London. The Bulgarian hospitals were overflowing with victims, so some were transferred to hospitals abroad. I know this witch couldn't be too critical, they kept the worst victims in Bulgaria. This really isn't my area of expertise, however, with all the additional victims transported from Bulgaria the hospital is short-staffed.

I briefly review the chart before stepping into the room. Annabelle Prescott, age unknown, but the admitting healer pinned her to be early twenties. Her family history is unknown except for a daughter, Carina Prescott (whom the same healer estimates to be 5), who was also admitted. I vaguely wonder if Malfoy will treat her daughter. I thought I saw him around the hospital today. There isn't much about this victim that is known, her chart is eerily empty. And once I step into the room I realize why.

Annabelle Prescott doesn't exist. And if she did, I know she would be 23. Born September 19.

I know this because I'm staring at the ghost of Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger can't possibly be alive because she was killed almost six years ago, at the beginning of the War. I still remember Snape returning from what was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance meeting. His greasy hair matted with blood and sticking to his face. His normally piercing black eyes were dull as he told us they had been ambushed and Hermione did not make it.

She looks slightly older now. Her bushy hair looks a shade darker than I remember. It looks like its been straightened, but it seems, after two days of unconsciousness, the unruly curls are peeking its way through. Training and logic has been thrown out the window. I need to shake her awake, hug her and make sure she's real. Instead, my hand reaches out to hers, clutching it. Any thoughts that this is a dream are lost because I can feel her hand warm in mine.

Apparently my grip rouses her because Hermione slowly blinks her eyes open. Unfamiliar grey eyes stare back at me. For a moment I doubt myself, my eyes. Perhaps this really is Annabelle Prescott and my mind is superimposing my dead best friend on this patient.

Her grey eyes blink rapidly in confusion for a moment before a fleeting look of recognition passes over her face. She pulls her hand out from mine and quickly scrambles up. A wave of dizziness hits her and she sways slightly.

"Wh-where am I?"

I want to scream at her. After six years and that's _all_ she has to say. But her voice, so empty and so very un-Hermione-like, stops me.

"You've been admitted to St. Mungo's," I say calmly, in my soothing Healer voice. "There was an accident at the Bulgarian Quidditch stadium. You were floo-ed here because Bulgaria's hospitals were overcrowded."

She gazes vacantly at her hands now, absently wiggling her fingers. Something about her mannerism, her aura, tells me this is not the Hermione I remembered, the one who was lost to us six years ago. For a second I wonder if Hermione Granger did truly die that day.

"What is the last thing you remember?" I ask.

"We were at the stadium. Bulgaria was winning. There was a terrible noise. I threw myself over Ca-," she breaks off and a look of horror steals over her features. For the first time since she's woken up, there is a bit life in her empty grey eyes.

"Carina! Where is my daughter?" her eyes are wild now and I can almost see a glimmer of the Hermione I used to know.

"She's fine," I soothe. "The healers are checking in on her now, but she's fine." I pat her hand and her eyes slowly lose the wildness. I make a mental note to check up on her daughter to make sure.

"Hermi-" I begin.

But she shakes her head and cuts me off.

"My name is Annabelle," she whispers in a hallow voice that I don't recognize. "I need to see my daughter."

I sigh. Her face has gone from confused to shock to panic to completely blank in a matter of moments. Whatever has happened, whatever made her leave us, has changed Hermione. She seems too fragile now. Like she'd shatter if I speak too loudly.

"I'll arrange for it, but I need to check you out first."

She nods dully. I perform the routine exam we've been giving to the survivors. She responds to my medical questions docilely but almost mechanical. Once the check up is done, I turn to leave the room. I have a million questions but I know she's not ready. Her behavior is frightening and reminds me vaguely of Neville's parents.

It was her parting words to me, as I exited the door that stopped my heart a second time. There was desperation peeking out of her hallow voice.

"Please don't tell him."

I turned and looked back at her. Her eyes are still dull and empty. But she was looking at me again, and without thinking I nod my head and leave the room.

As soon as the door shuts I break into a sprint. I know I shouldn't be doing this, Harry would kill me if he knew. In a few months I wont even be able to move this fast. But I can't help it. The chart said her daughter was about five. Old enough to be…

I have to find Carina before _he_ does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. If I did, there would be no Granger/Weasley offspring called Hugo.**

Chapter 2: Face in the Mirror

My young patient is asleep. Or at least pretending to be, I note as her fingers twitch slightly. Her soft curls spill over the pillow in sunny ringlets. When she opens her eyes I get a strange sense of déjà vu. Her eyes are a familiar grey color. Familiar because they're the exact same shade as the ones that stare back at me from the mirror every morning. Yet this child's eyes are different. They are somehow…_warmer_.

She eyes me quizzically, but does not seem panicked. For some reason my throat is dry and I cant make the words out.

"Who are you?" she questions, quite calmly for a five year old. There is a faint whisper of arrogance in her voice, as though she knows something that I do not. I've dealt with spoiled brats before, yet this one is different. I clear my throat and when I speak my voice sounds a little weird to me.

"I'm a healer. Healer Malfoy," I offer.

She regards me carefully and suddenly I feel like I'm being inspected and coming up short.

"My mummy says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," she informs me politely.

"Your mummy sounds like a smart woman."

"She is," the girl says enthusiastically. And I see a slight crack in her icy demeanor.

"Has your mummy told you about adults that you can talk to?"

She scrunches up her face as though trying hard to remember something. Then her face brightens.

"She says it's okay to talk to police and doctors."

I pause for a moment, genuinely confused. I recognize the words but they are muggle-terms. Surely they couldn't have admitted muggles into St. Mungo's. I quickly look at her chart, under family history it says "unknown." Before my brain can fully go into panic mode, she speaks again.

"And to aurors," she continues. "Because they are like police for wizards," she finishes triumphantly.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Is your mummy a witch?"

Her look of triumph disappears and she regards me again cautiously.

"Yes, but she was muggleborn. But my mummy says that being muggleborn is just as okay as being a pureblood." She glares at me for a moment, as though daring me to contradict her. When I say nothing, she continues on.

"And I'm not filthy at all," she insists, but this time her voice is smaller.

"You're not," I say firmly, and I'm rewarded with a small smile. "You're mummy is definitely a brilliant witch. Has your mummy also told you about healers?"

The little girl pauses then nods thoughtfully.

"Then she's told you that healers are like doctors for wizards, right?"

Another nod.

"And so it would be okay for you to talk to me."

She cocks her head to the said, eyeing me carefully for a moment more. Then slowly her face breaks into a brilliant smile. It lights up her entire face. Something in my chest tightens because a smile like hers is something I haven't seen in a long time. Since the beginning of the war and I can't help but wonder.

"What's your mummy's name, pumpkin?"

"Annabelle," she says and I feel my heart deflate slightly. "Annabelle Prescott."

"And your father?"

Her grey eyes cloud over and lose some of that warmth. She is suddenly very interesting in pale yellow pattern of stars on the blanket. She mumbles something and I have to lean closer to catch it.

"I don't have one."

"Did he die?" I ask quietly.

She doesn't look up but she shrugs her shoulders heavily. Before I can say anything of comfort, we're interrupted. Ginny Potter comes rushing in, skidding to a halt and nearly crashing into the wall when she sees me. She gapes at me for a moment and her face turns a brilliant shade of red. I figure she must've run quite far to be that exhausted. She opens her mouth to say something, but only a strangled garble comes out. She turns slowly and looks at my patient. My patient and I both watch her curiously but after a few moments she seems to regain her composure.

"Who are you?" the blonde little witch questions again.

Ginny looks a bit bewildered. Honestly, I think the pregnancy must be melting her brain or something. What's she doing in bursting into this room anyway? Children aren't her specialty.

"This is Ginny Potter, she's a healer too," I offer when I realize Ginny doesn't seem to be capable of speech. Grey eyes assess Ginny as she did me moments before.

"What are you doing here?" I question Ginny. For a moment she looks almost panicked. But then she shakes her head as though to clear it.

"Well, Draco," she begins, but quickly pauses as the child gasps from her bed. We both turn to look at her.

"Draco?" she whispers, almost in awe. "Like the constellation?"

I frown, mostly because not many people know this. And definitely not any five year olds.

"My name is Carina," she informs us. "I'm named after a constellation too," she finishes cheerfully.

Because I've looked at her chart I already know this, but I smile anyway. Ginny tries to smile but it ends up looking more like a grimace than anything else.

"Harry and Ron are both waiting for you in the lobby. Ron kindly informs you that if you don't get down there soon, you'll be late to the game."

I snort at this because I doubt Weasley has ever kindly informed me of anything.

"I haven't finished here yet," I say, then smirk. "Tell them I'll be down shortly, and I appreciate them waiting so patiently."

"I can finish here, if you want," she offers, eyeing Carina again.

It would make sense. Potter, Weasley and I have tickets to the Canons final quidditch match and I don't want to be late. But there's something about this girl that I feel connected to and I'm not ready to leave yet.

"No, I'll be finished shortly."

Ginny hesitates before she heads towards the door. Pausing briefly as though she wants to say something else, but nothing happens and she shuts the door behind her. I turn back to my patient, the five year old who knows constellations. Merlin, her mom must be a genius.

"I had a cat named Ginger once," she informs me politely.

"Oh, was she as red as Ginny's hair?"

I'm rewarded with a small giggle.

"No. She died last year, but I've got a new cat now."

"What's it's name?"

"Dragon."

A few minutes later the check up is done. Carina Prescott passed with flying colors. Something about her smile warms me and I whistle as I go off to meet Potter and Weasel.

---------

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

The mantra repeats over and over in my head as I dazedly walk back to my office. My mind is whirling, processing a million thoughts at a time.

First and foremost, is that Hermione is alive. I wonder if the shock will ever wear off. Second, is that Draco has met his daughter. I don't think he knows though. I mean who would suspect.

I have to tell _someone_. But who? It couldn't be Harry or Ron. They are much to close to Draco now. And I feel terrible for keeping it from Draco. I know that when he finds out, and I have no doubt that he will, there's going to be hell to pay. It was Hermione's vacant eyes, completely void of that sparkle I used to know, that prevents me from telling any of them. Some how I know, if they find out now, she'll break. So I'll do all I can to give her what she needs. Time.

And suddenly I know who I need to talk to.

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A/N: Yes, this story will switch point of views, I hope it's not too confusing. Sorry this took so long, but I hope it was worth the wait. As one of my favorite authors say: Leave me some love, ne?


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